


Took Too Much To Ease The Anger, All For You

by Nixie_DeAngel



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Competition, Established Relationship without them realizing it's an actual grown up relationship, Gaby knows the boys are dumb but will eventually catch a clue, Guns as courting gifts, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Mention of smut, Miscommunication, Post-Canon, Sort of pining?, Spies and their weird courting gifts, Spies in love and lust, Switching, but won't admit it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:00:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28025880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nixie_DeAngel/pseuds/Nixie_DeAngel
Summary: Only, because it’sthemand neither seem to know how to act like grown ups around the other, they turn it into a competition like the children Gaby constantly complains they truly are.
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113
Collections: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. Winter Holiday Gift Exchange 2020





	Took Too Much To Ease The Anger, All For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RainbowLily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainbowLily/gifts).



> So I should warn, I know really nothing about guns, and I'm hoping google didn't lead me too astray from the weapons listed as being pretty popular/sought after.

* * *

This… _thing_ , this competition of theirs starts, much like everything else does between them. It begins innocently, just one trying to treat the other to something nice and useful. 

Only, because it’s _them_ and neither seem to know how to act like grown ups around the other, they turn it into a competition like the children Gaby constantly complains they truly are. 

Paris is where it starts, with Napoleon making a find that has him gasping in delight. After knocking out the last round of bad guys, he happens to glance down and spots a Walther PPK just to the side of one of the goons, and knows that Peril would be delighted. So he scoops it up, and gives it over to his partner later that night one they’d finished the debrief and Gaby had bid them farewell, retiring to her room for the evening.

He expects for Illya to be happy, maybe even a little delighted to receive such a weapon as a gift, but he certainly wasn’t expecting the reaction he _does_ get in return to be handed the pistol. Napoleon just knows he’ll be sitting tenderly for the next few days and feeling the burn of well stretched muscles, and aches for even longer. 

And of course, Illya can’t let it go, can’t let his Cowboy gift him something and _not_ match, if not surpass it, with his own gift. Though it, admittedly, takes him nearly a month, and three different countries later, before he too finds a weapon worthy to gift back. He knows Solo has admired the Luger pistol, and had once in fact owned one; one that he sorely missed too. 

So he’s expecting Napoleon to have a rather physical reaction to receiving the gun, but even _he_ doesn’t anticipate being shoved against the nearest wall and the American dropping straight to his knees. His pants pulled down between one blink and the next, only to just adjust and let his gaze travel down in time to see Solo swallow his still hardening cock down, and doesn’t let up until he has Illya coming down his throat with a hoarse whimper embarrassingly fast.

He also can’t help but feel himself harden everytime Solo talked for the next two days, with how raspy and low his voice was due to how he’d abused his throat. Napoleon had strutted around their safe house, like a peacock, lips curled into a self satisfied grin.

Of course, Napoleon couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let his Red Peril one up him like that. Oh no, he could not let that stand. So naturally he’d hunted and scavenged until he’d found the perfect pistol to give back in return. He’d slipped the Mauser C96 into Illya’s luggage as they were packing up to leave. He waits in anticipation, near panting like an animal in heat, for Illya to find it and retaliate.

And oh boy, Napoleon near giggles in delight, still utterly boneless and exhausted against the scratchy cotton sheets of his hotel room, did Illya ever retaliate in the _best_ of ways. He thinks of the way the man had slipped into his room, cornering him just as he was exiting the bathroom and had all but manhandled him onto his bed.

How he’d spent _hours_ sucking marks and bruises along Napoleon’s stomach and thighs. How he left nearly blackened handprints on his hips where Illya gripped Napoleon, how he’d fucked in slow and hard, keeping him just on the edge of coming for hours and hours.

It truly had been a wondrous find and reaction, he muses, still twitching the next morning from over sensitivity as the sheets glide against his skin. He can’t wait to see how Illya responds.

He does, of course, with gifting Napoleon a MP 18, which prompts Napoleon himself to almost immediately give him a Browning Hi-Power in return. And they keep it up, gifting pistols as they traverse the world, and getting fantastic, nearly mind blowing sex in return only to then try and be one up with an even _better_ weapon.

But it all comes to a head, when just on the edge of the Russian border, does Napoleon give Illya a Makarov pistol. He expects — or well, more like has been trained to at this point — for a _sensational_ round of sex to follow.

Only, it never comes. 

Neither does a weapon in return happen.

Weeks go by, with nothing, and Napoleon begins to wonder if this is Illya quietly admitting defeat, conceding that Napoleon has _won_ this little… _thing_ of theirs. He finds himself frowning, because this, this is not how he envisioned this happening.

Honestly, he thinks as he lets himself into his personal apartment — after four back to back missions, Weaverly had finally approved the trio some personal down time for the next two weeks. It’s only as he’s locking up and moving to toe off his loafers does Napoleon realize there’s a small plain package sitting on his coffee table. 

He feels his frown deepen, even as he inches closer to inspecting it from a distance. He’s debating about calling Gaby or even a team from Uncle over, when he notices the plain white envelope resting propped up next to the box. 

Napoleon stares, definitely not as long as he should have, before deciding to open it up. He’s gentle, slow as he opens and pulls out the small piece of thick white card stock from within. His already furrowed brow deepens as he twists the stock around until he notes the short sentence written in Cyrillic. 

_I win_

Is all that’s written on it. 

He feels his confusion twist up his face, as he stares dumbfounded down at the words. “What?” he murmurs softly to himself. 

“Open package,” comes unexpectedly from behind him.

Letting out a sharp yelp, Napoleon drops what's in his hands. As he whirls around to face his unexpected guest, he pulls out his side arm from beneath his blazer. Only to come face to face with Illya standing just inside his apartment doorway, leaning up against the front door.

The front door he hadn’t heard being open, and was absolutely positive he’d _just_ locked up when he’d entered. 

“Look in box,” Illya rumbles, low and sweet, eyes twinkling in a way Napoleon rarely ever saw — only when he was content, only when he felt _safe_.

He stands there a moment, still just staring before nodding dumbly. He slips his gun back beneath his jacket and turns around, every few seconds glancing at Ilya from over his shoulder. “I thought you’d decided to go with Gaby to visit the Paris office?”

Well, he hadn’t _said_ as much, but since he’d gifted the man the Makarov last month, he’d made a point of spending hardly any time with Napoleon, and attaching himself to their chop shop girl. 

Napoleon may not have been _great_ at feelings and boundaries, but even he’d been able to summarize that Illya had wanted to end their… their little _arrangement_. So he’d assumed really, that when Gaby had mentioned she’d be visiting the Paris branch of Uncle, that Illya would be attending it with her.

“Cowboy,” Illya calls out, sudden and sharp, even if he kept his voice low. “Look in box. Please.”

He pauses, looks back for a long moment, before nodding once and begins to quickly, and methodically open up the box, only to pause. To stop and stare down stupidly for a long stretch of quiet. “That’s a Walther P38,” he says slow and stupidly.

“Is,” Illya agrees, and Napoleon can hear him softly padding across the carpet to come stand next to him. “Is favorite gun. You lost after you left the Army,” he explains, head dipping low to speak directly into Napoleon’s ear, lips brushing against the shell. “Took time to find it.”

“You,” he starts to croak but cuts himself off when he finds a lump forming in his throat. It was his favorite gun. And he _hadn’t_ had one since leaving the army, despite the ample opportunities he had to acquire one himself. It hadn’t felt _right_ for some reason. 

He remembers explaining that to Illya once, in a post orgasm haze, shortly after they’d begun spending the night together, instead of just rushing off once they’d both gotten off.

“You got me a a Walther P38.”

“I did,” Illya agrees. “I win.”

“Peril?” he rumbles lowly, letting his want and need and lust bleed into his voice. “Get to the bedroom and get your clothes _off_.”

It takes two days before they finally break and have an actual feelings and emotions and grown up conversation, but they eventually _do_ get around to it. 

First though, they have lots and lost of mind blowing, sensationally fantastic sex.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this!


End file.
